A taboo subject airing out on the line

Perhaps it is considered tacky to air out one's laundry on a blog, but then I consider my blog part of my community. I know that the majority of you are my dearest friends, and the rest of you are people with whom I'd like to be friends or have in my community. Also, I have NEVER begrudged anyone their emotions in the blogosphere. I usually put my hand over my heart and and sometimes touch the monitor when I read an especially heart wrenching post because if I know the writer, I want to hug her because I love her and can identify. If I don't know the writer, I want to hug her because I love her and can identify. There are times when we just need to metaphorically sit with each other and recognize that we are all together, with each other - being human together. So today it's my turn.

Until Sunday, I was two weeks shy of being through my first trimester. I was pregnant. The baby had a heart. She had a brain and fingers and toes. She had ears and a nose. She even had a name. I was pretty sure I had lost her on Sunday evening, but found out for certain yesterday.

This pregnancy was a surprise, as far as pregnancies can be. I didn't figure we were even able to have kids, which was pretty much fine with me since I teach school and am constantly playing mother to my students. In fact, I was sort of pissed off about being pregnant because it "wasn't the plan."

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a list maker. There is always a plan. If the plan goes out of order or is interrupted, it crushes my soul (Thanks, OCD). I have to actually PLAN to be spontaneous.

So, the overall plan was to go to Spain, to Machu Picchu, to continue traveling East until I was brave enough to go to India and Asia. I (have always)wanted to live in Britain and be in the places where my favorite writers walked. I wanted to go at least for the summer (possibly do some sort of teaching exchange there), if I couldn't make the move a reality. I've applied to several programs and have done tons of research.

I've never been very maternal anyway, and couldn't imagine wanting to change my lifestyle. I loved that if I wanted to, I could hop on a plane for a last minute adventure. I was a size 6 for the first time since high school. I had major bikini plans.

So, the pregnancy made me a bit bitter and sad (my plan was certainly interrupted), and I felt like I didn't want the baby at first. The shock turned into embarrassment and then to anger at myself for being so selfish. Finally, I got used to the idea. I started thinking about cribs and diaper bags and names. I started planning financially and began looking at day cares and insurance policies. My family, for the most part, was so happy. The first grand kid was on her way! This part was both fun and stressful, but manageable. And I started to talk to the baby, and plan with her. She was becoming a reality and I was learning to be excited, like Rich who was completely over the moon about it.

The entire time I was pregnant, I was bleeding. I knew that that was bad, but I also knew that it happens. Every doctor visit was stressful because we were so worried about what they would tell us. But I was almost finished with my first trimester, the time when things were supposed to be more "safe". I didn't let myself get too excited about that, but I did start cautiously whispering the news to some of my friends who were really excited for us.

Then it happened.

I am such a control freak. I knew it was happening, but because I'm me, I tried to will myself to stop it, physically even. I made a doctor appointment the very next day. The news was hopeful. My body still 'felt' pregnant.

But then there was yesterday.

I can't describe to you the loneliness and silence associated with looking at an empty uterus on a sonogram screen. It is almost ridiculously calm (or maybe still is the better word), and maybe would've been so had my heart not been sinking with the realization that I was staring at nothing. Nothing was there. There was nothing.

Rich was not able to be with me and I have never felt so completely by myself.

When a doctor came in to talk to me about "options," I couldn't look up. I couldn't respond or blink or breathe. The doctor put her hand on my wrist and stood there, probably praying for me, but I couldn't imagine why anyone would pray over nothing on a screen. It was too late for prayer.

I only sort of heard what she was saying, and I know that I received a shot of some sort and signed some paperwork to do with surgery next week. I had to initial a disclaimer that it wasn't the doctor's fault if I died on the operating table and something about a transfusion.

I immediately started calling my family, irrationally apologizing to Rich first because I felt (feel) some sort of responsibility for losing the baby.(Maybe I didn't want her enough, or worse, maybe she didn't want me.) I started writing to people who knew about the pregnancy, and throwing away calendars that had due dates and weeks numbered. I threw away all of my "baby" lists, and cancelled all of the up coming appointments. I threw away the mother's day cards I received this year, and unsubscribed from the "this is what your baby looks like at ___weeks" newsletter I was receiving.

No one knows quite what to say to me, and some people say the silliest things. Some people are mean without meaning to be, and some are insensitive. But it's weird because even these things are said in an attempt to comfort. They're said in love.
The worst is when people say things like, 'These things happen for a reason.' No they don't. There is no 'reason' in a miscarriage. There is not a rationale, at least not one that I can accept right now. Or they say, 'Probably something was wrong with the baby and this is God's gentle and natural way of taking care of that defect." Uh. So God aborts some babies, but not all of them, and yours is the one he picked today (and we give him credit for all of the healthy, 'miracle' babies who weren't 'defective' at ten weeks?). Reason doesn't play into this one. But like I said, these things were said out of concern.

There are some people who have said wonderfully beautiful things. My favorites are that "in some beautiful way, our bodies reabsorb most of the baby, which means that baby is and will always be a part of you." Another is that I "will always be a moma. From now on and forever, and that because the baby was in me, I can know that the life she had was happy." Or, "Having a miscarriage doesn't mean that you can't eventually have a baby, but we need to mourn this baby right now. This is a loss and it's OK to be sad."

And those of you who simply cry with me and tell me "I love you" over and over.. That's the most valuable. That's all I need. I NEED "I love you".

I don't know why women don't talk about this sort of loss. I guess it is considered too personal. Or maybe it's just too sad. Or maybe unless you can't say 'I love you' to someone or you haven't been in the situation and find it awkward (which it is), it's easier to just not talk about it. I don't know. I find it horrifying that so many women have endured this loss, and that we can't be vulnerable with each other about it.

It's just a sad, sad time. I am fighting irrational thoughts, which is 'normal' from what I understand, and my hormones are going crazy. Physically, I'm not 'finished' with the miscarriage since it is a process, and I have to constantly think about it. It's painful and gut wrenching, both physically and emotionally.

I'm going to be OK, but not today. And that's OK.

So that's the laundry, uncomfortably aired out on my blog. So sit with me if you want. Be with me here in this comfortably uncomfortable space.